


Summer Ice

by delta_capricorni



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Asexual Sylvain Jose Gautier, Gen, Nonbinary Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_capricorni/pseuds/delta_capricorni
Summary: It’s easier to let people think he’s gay than for them to realize he’s broken. So he believes, anyway. So he tells himself every day, as the summer drags its feet and June melts into July.(written for FE3H @AceAroWeek | art by @ochazake)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: FE3H - Ace/Aro Week





	Summer Ice

The rumors had swept through Fhirdiad High School by storm at the end of his senior year, culminating in the world’s most awkward graduation ceremony where all eyes were on Sylvain: the valedictorian whose womanizing apparently was a front for his closeted homosexuality. He had a sneaking suspicion Annette had started them, unintentionally or not, for she and Mercie—oops, Mercedes, he ought to call her now—were tighter than peas in a pod, though he knew it was pointless to hold it against her.

The elder Gautier—his father, not his disowned brother—was furious about the whole affair, even if it was entirely founded upon (mostly) baseless rumors. Thus, that summer before college, having lost his home as a safe haven, his girlfriend of the past year, and all his friends along with her, Sylvain sought refuge by going to work full-time in the only place where obscurity was (mostly) guaranteed: The Lance of Ruin, that one café by the dilapidated record store, Aegis Shield. Though summer was the busiest season for customers, his classmates generally considered The Lance to be an off-putting mix of hipster and bourgeois, the perfect combination for maintaining his own anonymity while he worked there.

Each day like clockwork he’d escape home at 6am, arrive at The Lance around 6:30, and unlock the café at 7, always with an enormous yawn as the bakers finished their last batches and prepared to cede the floor to the line cooks. Those quiet mornings, if he was slow to make his daily espresso, he’d invariably end up overanalyzing every line he'd dropped on every girl at school, replaying every instance where he'd balked at their light touches to his hand, remembering every time he'd wondered if this girl would be The One to make him feel something a little more than romance, something… visceral. Physical. _Sexual_.

Mercedes, he’d thought, would be different. She was gentle, and patient, and _very_ pretty, beautiful even (though that was hard to believe coming from him). The hours they spent baking or stargazing together, he thought he could be content to stay with her like that forever. But that fateful evening, just a week shy of finals, when she surprised him by initiating a kiss and guiding his palm to her soft breast… the panic he felt at, well, feeling _nothing_ … he shakes off the memory. It’s almost time for the daily breakfast rush.

“Good morning, sunshine!” he sings toward the sound of the door chime. It’s only Ashe showing up for work, though, who blushes lightly and waves. Sylvain grins and files this in his mind under _Ways to Fluster the Sous Chef_ , then devolves into overanalyzing again: does that mean he _likes_ likes Ashe? Or is this just friendship? Is this how he felt toward Mercedes? Or his old friends? Or…

“Ahem. Are you awake?” A balding businessman stares him down. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Oops, a customer. “Yessir, sorry sir, what can I get for you?” he answers, though this time he knows for certain that his glowing smile is fake. And so begins another day of work.

The way some of the middle-aged customers side-eye him, and the resemblances they share with some of his classmates—he’s pretty sure he’s served Annette’s father before—he wonders just how far the rumors have spread. But hopping on that train of thought only leads him back to his dad’s homophobia, so he recovers by counting down the days until he can leave for college and move out permanently.

At the same time though, it’s easier to let people think he’s gay than for them to realize he’s broken. So he believes, anyway. So he tells himself every day, as the summer drags its feet and June melts into July.

\---

“Oh, my goddess,” Ingrid exclaims. The afternoon is so hot, and the café so empty, that Dedue gave all the back of house staff the rest of the day off. Sylvain, Ingrid, and Dedue are enough to handle the café.

“What, never seen a customer in ninety-degree weather before?” Sylvain leans on the counter, unimpressed by the figure who’s just entered the coffeeshop. Mondays are usually quiet anyhow.

Ingrid swats him with yesterday’s stack of receipts. “Of course I have; I’ve been working here since I was sixteen. Look closely—stop, you’re being too obvious—okay, look again. Do you recognize him?”

Sylvain tries his best to inconspicuously spy on the person craning their neck to study the menus on the walls. Ponytail, black t-shirt, streetwear sweatpants tucked into combat boots… in the summer?

“Seems like any other hipster to me,” he mutters. “Am I supposed to recognize him?”

Ingrid ducks under the counter when the customer starts heading over. “I could be mistaken, but…”

“Deep breaths, Ingrid. Don’t worry, I’ll take his order. But who is he?”

Ingrid, usually straitlaced, now seems close to bursting. “I think it might be… _the_ Glenn Fraldarius!”

“The who?”

“Ask for his name when he orders!”

And she scurries away, leaving Sylvain to confront the surliest guest he’s ever seen.

“A cappuccino. Soy milk if costs the same.”

Sylvain cocks an eyebrow. _Is Ingrid into this kind of guy…?_

“Did you hear what I said?” they growl.

“Woah, sorry, good afternoon to you too, sir.” Sylvain holds up his hands in surrender. He thinks he catches their eye twitch. “Sorry, it’s just this heat, yannow? Makes it hard to concentrate and all.”

The customer scoffs, though if Sylvain looks closely he can see miniscule pearls of sweat on their brow. “Whatever. Make it an iced cappuccino if that makes you feel better.”

“Uh, I can get you an iced latte, Mister? We don’t do iced cappuccinos.”

The more he talks, the more he seems to infuriate them. “You’re making this interaction way more awful than it ought to be. An iced latte it is then, you simpleton.”

“I—Fine. Right away, sir…” Sylvain’s about to go pull a couple shots of espresso when he catches Ingrid gesturing frantically from the kitchen. With an exaggerated sigh, he returns to ask, “Your name, please?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m literally the only guest in this café right now.” They look like they’re on the verge of exploding, but Sylvain doesn’t budge, and they finally squeeze out a tiny, “Felix.”

Sylvain pauses. “…Are you sure about that? Sir?”

Felix makes hell seem like a winter wonderland. “ _It’s my own name_. What the fuck is wrong with you? I just want a slightly-better-than-mediocre caffeinated drink, iced or hot, I don’t give a shit, and some alone time before I have to go back to Aegis-fucking-Shield, and wouldn’t it be nice if I could go around this miserable excuse of a small-town _without_ getting misgendered a hundred times in a single day—”

“Here, Felix.” Sylvain slides over an iced latte, the milk still swirling cautiously amongst the espresso. As Felix reaches for their wallet, Sylvain quickly follows up with, “On the house.”

“What?” The scowl fades into a more disgruntled look. “Why? You feel sorry for me?”

“I mean, you’re always free to tip,” Sylvain shrugs. “Um. I’m sorry if I upset you? Okay, of course I upset you. But I, uh, it’s just part of workplace etiquette to address our customers a certain way, and…”

_Sluuuuuuuurrrrp!_

“Uh, rude.” Now Sylvain’s the one feeling slighted as Felix drinks as loud as humanly possible. “I’m trying to express my heartfelt apologies here.”

“Heartfelt, my ass.” Felix glowers. “You were blathering too long. I’m gonna go sit down now.”

With that they amble away, leaving Sylvain speechless for once.

Ingrid reappears at his side. “Well, that didn’t go as planned. But I swear, he looks just like Glenn—”

“Can I go on lunch break?” Sylvain asks, almost absentmindedly.

“Huh? Oh, sure. You’ll have to make your own lunch though.”

“Thanks.” Sylvain hastily assembles a sandwich and sheds his apron. Instead of chilling in the refrigerated storage area as usual, he goes up front and pulls up a chair next to Felix.

The icy daggers Felix glares at him could probably cut a man of lesser charm, but Sylvain’s gotten enough practice in similar situations that he dodges them with ease.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about…” and he waves his hands in the air, hoping Felix understands.

If they do, they ignore it. “That’s nice. Now leave me alone.”

“Actually,” Sylvain has committed to the mindless blabbering tactic, “my coworker mistook you for someone else. And I was like, no way! Well, to be honest, I had no idea who she was talking about. But maybe you do, if you look like him so much! So, any chance you know a certain Glenn Fraldarius?”

Felix squeezes their cup and the ice cubes protest and crack, but Sylvain doesn’t flinch. “…He’s my shit-for-brains brother,” they explain, though their tone doesn’t match their wording.

“Ah, that explains it,” Sylvain grins widely. “Is he famous or something?”

Felix looks out the window. “Your coworker’s probably aware that Glenn’s giving a performance next door this upcoming weekend. Really though, it’s just a publicity stunt.”

“What, no way!” Sylvain’s genuinely surprised this time. “What instrument does he play?”

Felix shrugs, though Sylvain detects a bit of something glowing in his eyes. “Bass. He sucks, though.”

Sylvain chuckles. …Wait. Is he enjoying chatting with someone who just ranted at him? –Ah, he just remembered the reason he came to talk. How to pull off a seamless segue? “Uh, do you play anything?”

The scowl returns in full force. Sylvain shivers a bit. “Don’t even think about coming to the show.”

“Why not?” he pouts.

“Why are you still here?” they retort.

Sylvain sighs, without any exaggeration this time. “Hey, Felix…”

“What do you want?” Is that… a hint of a smile? Are they having fun, being an asshole to him? If that’s the case, well, he’ll roll with it.

He sits upright, hoping to communicate his earnestness. “Felix. What are your pronouns?”

“Huh?” They’re taken aback. “That’s the first thing you should’ve asked when you waltzed right over like nobody’s business, you dumbass.”

“I’m asking now.”

For the first time they seem to hesitate. Then, staring at their drink, they mumble, “Look, I wasn’t gonna say anything, because we’re total strangers, and I wasn’t planning on talking to you. That being said… I use they/them pronouns. I’m neutrois. Like, gender-nonbinary. Even if I don’t look or sound like it.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re you.” The words slip from Sylvain’s lips before he realizes it. “I’m sorry for misgendering you. Like I said, it’s a habit that we folks in service jobs have, but I’ll do better next time.”

Felix seems to mull this over and sips their drink. Sylvain in turn begins to wolf down his sandwich, smirking when they appear mildly disgusted at how fast he eats.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ingrid poised to call him back, when Dedue appears by her side and whispers something. Ingrid nods and returns to her post. Sylvain files this in his mind under _Moments When the Head Chef Was a Real Bro_. Felix and Sylvain pass the rest of the time in silence, both on their phones, not quite ignoring each other, but not minding each other’s presence, either. Sylvain imagines Felix as a snowball—freezing to the touch and impossible to hold for long, yet tempting to cup in the warmth of his hands nevertheless. …Did he feel this way toward other people?

When Felix gets up to leave, they avert their gaze before asking very, very softly, “Your name?”

Sylvain beams. Felix rolls their eyes. “Sylvain! I’m Sylvain Gautier.”

“Oh. Like Miklan…” Felix begins, then decides against it. Sylvain releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Well. See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah! See ya.” Sylvain musters a smile, though this time Felix sees right through. They hesitate, as if they mean to apologize this time, but then they simply toss their cup into the trash and exit wordlessly.

Ingrid appears at his side once again. “What was that all about? You into him or something?”

“Them.”

“Huh?”

Sylvain turns to Ingrid, suddenly a bit melancholy. “Felix uses they/them pronouns. And you were sorta right: Glenn’s their brother.” _And somehow… they know mine._

\---

Felix doesn’t show up the rest of the week. Sylvain sags like a sack of expired coffee beans. The workflow picks up as the week drags on, but amongst the faces of Fhirdiad he finds none named Felix.

Meanwhile Ingrid’s got extra pep in her step, humming while she busses mugs and wipes down tables.

“What’s up with you?” Sylvain wonders aloud, voice muffled since he’s resting his face on the counter.

“Stop slacking while you’re on the clock.” Ingrid shoves a bin full of dirty utensils in his face. “Anyway, didn’t I tell you already? Glenn’s performing this weekend! As in, tomorrow!! Next door!!!”

Right, Felix had mentioned that... _Don’t even think about coming_. Sylvain whines and slides onto the floor.

“Sylvain.” The deep voice startles him, and he scrambles to his feet.

“Dedue, sir!” _Sir._ “I mean. Head Chef!” Sylvain manages a lopsided grin. “Sorry, just resting my feet…”

Dedue folds his arms and examines the barista before him. “You seem demotivated. Is it the heat?”

It’s true, mid-July suffocates the café even with the AC at full blast. Yet, for all their fiery irascibility, Felix seemed to cool the entire seating area when they were sitting calmly beside him. They’d also said something about Fhirdiad being a “small town,” even though it was the capitol of Faerghus. What kind of far-off polar regions did they find habitable? Where could he witness Felix thriving?

All heads turn toward the jingling of the door, and all perk up instantly.

“Mr. Blaiddyd, sir!” Dedue rushes to pull up a chair in the main seating area.

“Dedue, please, we’ve discussed this. Mr. Blaiddyd is my father. I’m just Dimitri.” The blond gentleman smiles, though it’s a bit artificial. Not unlike Sylvain’s, if he’s being honest. “Is the Head Baker in?”

Ashe emerges from the kitchen. “Emile? You just missed him. He comes and goes like a ghost.”

“I see. I’ll make a more formal appointment with him. In any case, I’m glad I came at this time; it seems the customers are all avoiding the heat.” Dimitri himself is wearing a three-piece suit, but he doesn’t even break a sweat. “Ingrid, Sylvain, please join us as well.”

“Okay, Boss.”

“Just Dimitri, please.” Dimitri studies his four employees briefly before continuing. “I understand this is short notice, but I’ve received a proposal from Aegis Shield, regarding tomorrow’s concert—”

Ingrid nearly falls out of her chair. “Are we catering for them? Sign me up, I’ll do it!”

To Sylvain’s surprise Dimitri cracks a real smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited before. I’m happy to assign you that shift, though of course I need to confirm Dedue’s and Emile’s availability first.”

“Right, apologies.” Ingrid shrinks back, though there’s a bright gleam to her eyes.

Sylvain zones out as the others discuss the menu offerings. Should he volunteer as well? He doesn’t want to piss Felix off. Then again, they hadn’t even planned on talking to him in the first place, and yet…

“…right, Sylvain?”

“Right! Wait, what?”

“Oh, good. You and Ingrid should suffice given the relatively… indie nature of the performance, but I’ll also ask around the part-timers, just in case.” Dimitri’s rapidly tapping out notes on his smartphone.

“What did I just sign up for?” Sylvain groans, already knowing the answer.

Ashe flashes him a cheeky grin. “You’ll be working the concert night as well. If that’s okay with you!”

“I recall you saying something about not having any weekend plans anyway.” Dedue stares him down.

“You two…!” Sylvain thinks he’s locked onto their ulterior motive, though there’s nothing he can do about it now. He files this under _Times When the Sous and Head Chefs Teamed up on Me_.

So that’s that. Ingrid’s fidgeting like a student waiting for the bell. If only he could share her enthusiasm for someone who explicitly warned him not to appear. And yet… he’s excited, too. Just a little bit.

\---

Saturday night rolls around and Aegis Shield has more guests swarming about its premises than it’s seen all year. They’ve cordoned off part of the sidewalk and set up folding chairs facing a makeshift stage. The Lance for its part has its door propped open. It feels more like a block party than an official concert, though Sylvain admits it’s nice to feel like he’s part of something for once.

That happy illusion is shattered when his former classmates saunter carefreely into the café. His ears immediately pick up on that heavenly laugh, and his eyes are drawn to how everyone else orbits her like planets around their sun. She’s cut her hair, and though he wants to abandon the cash register and flee, that pixie cut makes him feel like a six-foot-tall cinderblock. Right beside her, Annette has conversely grown out her locks. She looks nice too, he thinks. Not as nice as Mercedes, but cute enough…

He braces for impact, but they weave left toward the bakers’ station. Are they ignoring him? He wants to shrink into a cinnamon roll and roll far, far away.

“Emile? Are you there?” Mercedes calls out. Wait, she knows Emile?

Sure enough, the phantom baker emerges, with a tray full of cream-filled beignets to boot. He towers over Mercedes and her friends, blocking out the nearest ceiling light and casting his face in darkness.

“I baked these for you, Mercie…” he rumbles, barely audible over the growing din outside.

Mercie?! Sylvain begins to panic. Are they dating…? As her (former boy-)friend, he wouldn’t allow it! To his knowledge Emile dropped out of high school, plus he never spoke more than a couple sentences per day. He was super shady! Sylvain had overlooked it because of how delicious his pastries were, but…

“Oh, thank you, Little Brother!” Mercedes beams and flings her arms around Emile, who expertly balances the beignets in one hand and pats Mercedes on the back with the other.

“Little? Brother?!” Only when all eyes fall on Sylvain does he realize he’s spoken aloud. “Oh, um, nice to see you? Sorry. Hi. Now that you’re standing next to each other, I guess your hair’s the same color…”

“We’re half-siblings, so that’s why we don’t look very similar,” Mercedes explains casually, plucking a beignet off the tray. Annette tries to look fierce, though the effect is ruined by a smudge of cream on her cheek. “Anyway, I didn’t know you worked here, Sylvain. Hope you enjoy the concert too.”

With that the group files out. A few of them side-eye Sylvain, so he hides behind a pastry display. Thankfully a few strangers subsequently enter and order, which forces him to channel his restlessness toward pulling shots and steaming liquids instead.

After the last drink makes its way across the counter, Sylvain’s thinking to himself, _Well, that was unexpected, but also not so bad!_ when he nearly collides with Emile, who hasn’t budged from earlier.

“What gives, man?” Sylvain tries to grin, though Emile’s expression is stony as a statue. “Actually, how come I’ve never seen you at Mercedes’s place? I used to, uh, study with her fairly often.”

“She lives with our mother. I live with my father.” Now Emile seems rather perturbed, and wordlessly he exits behind the ovens. Sylvain files this under _Reminders That Other People Have Family Problems Too_.

Sylvain leans on the counter and sighs. Where is everyone? Ingrid is probably cheering on her idol, while Dedue and Ashe accompany Dimitri to greet Mr. Blaiddyd and Mr. Fraldarius, who are apparently old friends. At this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if his own dad was acquainted with them too. Is Felix around? Skulking around the premises maybe, too much of a weenie to enter—

A tenor voice rings clear through the speaker system: “How’s everybody doing tonight?”

Ingrid was justified in mistaking Felix for Glenn. Meandering toward the café entrance, Sylvain can make out someone who looks like a future version of Felix with a royal-blue bass guitar, striding onstage in front of an adoring crowd. The indoor lighting makes it hard to see what’s going on outside, so he does a triple-take when he sees, trailing Glenn like an anxious shadow, the one and only Felix.

“It’s really great to be back in Fhirdiad and to see all my family, friends, and neighbors. And I’m so grateful you chose to spend your Saturday evening here with me. Let’s give it up for Aegis Shield, for hosting and recording tonight’s concert!” The more Glenn speaks, the more Sylvain doubts his relationship to Felix. Maturity alone wouldn’t generate such a difference in charisma. “I’ve prepared a special set exclusively for you all tonight. Let’s welcome, well, me on the bass, and Felix on vocals!”

Hearty applause and whistles. Felix looks like a wet cat and Sylvain smirks… Wait. Felix on _what?_

The mellow bass riff evolves into something too complex for Sylvain to appreciate. But when Felix begins singing, he’s absolutely floored. Transitioning seamlessly between a breathy head voice and ragged chest voice, effortlessly holding trailing notes long and soft… It’s Glenn’s show, but there’s no way Felix isn’t stealing hearts tonight. Sylvain misses most of the lyrics, but he gets the refrain on the last repeat:

_You’re a roaring blaze, you’re a flickering candle  
I wish I could hold you but you’re too hot to handle  
Feel your heat in my hands, singe the tip of my finger  
Cup my hands ‘round your flame if it means you might linger  
A little longer, please can I stay by your side  
A little longer, though I’m as unfeeling as ice  
Even if I’ll melt, I don’t care what they say  
Even if it means I’ll melt, melt away…_

What does he have to do to be able to hear Felix sing like that again, after this concert? What can he possibly give in return for such a beautiful voice? …How does he ask them to be his friend?

\---

He misses the rest of the show tending to guests in the café, though when Felix leaves the stage halfway through he figures it’s okay. Glenn’s bass is nothing to sneeze at, but it’s just not his preferred genre.

Last call for orders goes out at 10pm. By then the audience has dwindled to Glenn’s most dedicated fans, Ingrid among them, so Sylvain decides to start closing up shop. He finds himself humming that song:

_Even if I’ll melt, I don’t care what they say  
Even if it means I’ll melt, melt away…_

What does it mean? Was Felix singing their heart out for someone, or just for themself? Might there be any space in their heart for someone broken like him?...

“…vain. Sylvain? That’s your name, right? Anybody home in that thick skull of yours?”

“Gah, Felix!” Sylvain suddenly finds them in his face. “How long have you been there?”

“Too long. I’m leaving,” they huff, turning tail and heading straight for the door.

“Wait, Felix!” Sylvain dives over the counter and bounds toward them. “I was just thinking about y—”

Felix stops in their tracks and Sylvain crashes into them. Felix is sent sprawling onto the floor, Sylvain catching himself just inches above them. There they remain for a moment, both holding their breath. If not for his pounding heart Sylvain would’ve thought Felix had frozen time.

The words slip out like he’s slipping on ice: “Hey there, beautiful.” A classic compliment for your dime-a-dozen high school girl, perfect for saying absolutely nothing at all, and yet…

He swears, or maybe he desperately wishes, he sees a tiny spark in those amber eyes. Then Felix growls, “Fuck you,” and shoves him with one hand. Their strength catches him off-guard, and he finds himself on his butt while Felix stands and pats the dust off their clothes.

And yet he’d meant every syllable with every fiber of his being. He curses himself for being so loose with his words that Felix couldn’t possibly have interpreted them as anything other than insincere. Even so, Felix is something else. They are the night breeze to cool a hot summer’s day. They are…

“Quit staring. And get your sorry ass off the floor.” Felix plops into a chair and leans back precariously.

They are also a bucket of ice dumped unceremoniously over his head. But the shock is only temporary, and Sylvain obligingly grabs a seat beside them. A few minutes pass in silence.

“I overheard some kids talking about you in the audience.”

That one sentence is frostbite. Sylvain wants to run, but he can’t feel his limbs. “Welp. Lay it on me.”

“They called you a promiscuous, closeted, gay womanizer. They claimed that you broke the hearts of every woman in Fhirdiad. And they said your lattes fucking suck. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Uh, you made that last one up, didn’t you?” Running through all possible responses to the other two allegations, Sylvain nearly misses the mischievous grin that crosses Felix’s face. “Hey, you smiled!”

“No, I didn’t.” And there’s the scowl again. Not that it doesn’t look just as good on them anyway.

“You’re gonna get permanent wrinkles on your forehead if you keep frowning like that,” he teases.

Felix raises their eyebrows as if stretching their brow muscles before their face settles back into its characteristic downturn. “Answer the question.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a question in the first place…”

“Fine. Answer this, then.” If Felix were an icicle, their words would be the dripping beads of water, taking bits and pieces of them with each droplet. “…Are you hitting on me? And are you just gonna leave when you’ve finished having your fun? Because, newsflash, we’re still strangers. And, whether you’re a closet gay or not, I’m not about to be a nonbinary novelty for you.”

Melting ice can be seen as weakness, or it can be transformation, fluidity, time. Sylvain takes the leap.

“I’m broken.”

“…What?” There isn’t consternation, nor indignation in their voice. Only a request for clarity.

“The rumors you heard,” and Sylvain takes a deep breath, just so they know it’s gonna be _a lot_ , “they all started because Mercie… my ex-girlfriend wanted more physical intimacy. And since we were together for almost a year, I should’ve been ready, you know? Everyone thought I’d finally settled on one woman. It was awful of me to ignore the hints she’d been dropping all semester. But then, when she pulled the moves on me, I… I freaked out and shut down. I couldn’t even tell her how I was feeling, it was that shitty, and I ended up just walking out without explaining or apologizing. I hurt her real bad. The worst part is, I really liked her. I genuinely did. So why did I have to go and fuck everything up?”

Felix looks like they’re contemplating all this. After letting Sylvain stew in his own misery for a bit, they ask, “What were you feeling in that moment? That you weren’t into her?”

“I mean, I thought I was—”

“I don’t care what you thought. How did you feel in that moment?” Felix sounds exasperated, though they wait quietly during the several minutes that pass before Sylvain speaks again.

“At first, I didn’t feel anything. None of those sexy fun times down there or anything you see on porn sites. I wasn’t grossed out either. It was just… I don’t know, a nice, squishy, pillow-like feeling—”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Felix grumbles. “Why did you freak out about your girlfriend’s boob?”

_The emptiness he felt at her fullness in his hand… It wasn’t that he was turned off, or that she wasn’t attractive. But telling her he could spend his whole life with her would’ve rang hollow in that moment._

“I was… scared. And confused. Because I didn’t want to do anything physical with her, but she did. And I thought that she of all people would turn me on… That’s when I realized there was something wrong with me. It was my fault. But I couldn’t just say, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ in a situation like that, could I?”

“It’s not your fault. But you’re also sure you’re not gay?” Felix glances away. _Are you hitting on me?_

Sylvain wants to clear away this miasma. “I’m sure I’m not gay _or_ straight. I can give myself a boner, but when it comes to all other people, I’ve never wanted to… you know. Get laid? To tap an ass. To do the diddly-do. To bump my uglies with other folks’ fugly-wugglies. To go raw-doggin’ in the fart box. To—"

“Sothis help me, you are truly an insufferable prick.”

For a moment Sylvain is terrified by the weird grimace Felix is wearing, but when their stitched-together frown gives way to belly laughter he ends up guffawing at himself too. “Charming, aren’t I!”

Felix wipes a tear away before resuming their glare. “I know I’ve only just met you, but I also know I definitely hate you, Sylvain. I really do.”

“Thank you! I’ll be here all night.”

Sylvain’s still chortling when Felix rubs their hands along their face and sighs. “Sylvain, you might be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met. But you’re definitely not broken, and none of this is your fault.”

His giddiness fades and he slinks down along the back of his seat. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“No, I mean it.” They’re growing visibly frustrated again. “Sylvain, I think you’re asexual.”

“I’m… what?” He’s heard this term before. “Asexual… Like an amoeba? Wait, are you calling me simple-minded again—"

“No, you insensitive twat. Shut up and listen.” They take a deep breath. “You’re asexual if you don’t feel sexual attraction to other people. Nothing wrong or broken about it. And I think that’s what you are.”

“I… see.” Sylvain leans back in his chair. No sexual attraction? That was a thing? Wasn’t sex part-and-parcel of romance? Or was that another one of those normative we-live-in-a-society things? Was this something he had to take college classes to understand, or could he really trust his instincts—and trust Felix? “I think… I’ll have to think about this a bit more. But it also sounds about right. It makes sense.”

“Take your time.” They fold their arms as if waiting for a response, but Sylvain knows it’s rhetorical.

“Thanks, Felix. I can’t force you to believe in my sincerity, but… it really felt good to hear your words.”

Is it the lighting as Felix angles their face away, or are they blushing a little bit? Sylvain shines a bit brighter when Felix mutters, “Don’t mention it. But actually. Don’t mention this to me ever again.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Both pairs of eyes wander momentarily back outdoors, where they witness Ingrid finally working up the courage to request Glenn’s autograph. Good for her, Sylvain thinks. In fact, perhaps if she hadn’t mistaken Felix for Glenn… If Sylvain and Felix hadn’t had that first conversation about their gender…

As if recalling the same event, Felix asks, “How is it that you were able to accept my gender and pronouns so easily, and yet you didn’t even know what asexuality was?”

“Before I answer that, how do you know Miklan?”

“Miklan Gautier?” Felix pauses to think. “He helped lead the trans and nonbinary students’ group at my university this past year before graduating. Ah… I see.”

Sylvain stares at his hands folded in his lap. “Sounds like he ended up okay, then. Good for him. …I’m not sure if you know this, but he came out right before leaving for college, and our dad was so outraged that he just up and disowned him. We weren’t close, but… it felt like Dad was threatening me, too.”

“I get the feeling. I hope you never meet my annoying family, but just for the record, I’m not out to them either. Maybe I never will be. But anyway, that’s why I hate coming home so much.” Felix shuffles around in their seat. “So don’t fuck up and gender me correctly in front of them. Got it?”

“Don’t fuck up by not misgendering you. Got it.”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“Gender norms are stupid. Same for sexuality.”

“Agreed.”

Sylvain thinks he’s hallucinating when he feels a gentle tap on his hand under the table, but when it becomes an insistent pinch he realizes it’s Felix. Avoiding looking in their direction, he extends his hand to hold theirs, which is somehow cold even in the summer heat. Ice can freeze and chill to the bone, but ice can also soothe a painful injury. Right now, Sylvain feels like maybe, finally, he can begin to heal.

He makes a new mental cabinet under which to file this moment: _Memories I Never Want to Forget_.

They listen to murmurs wafting in from outside, the sound of equipment being taken apart, questions about future performances and performing the future. Summer will be over before he knows it.

A thought occurs to him. “…Wait. You’re a college student?”

“Yeah. I’m a rising second-year. But I skipped a grade, so we’re probably around the same age.”

“What school?”

“You don’t know where your own brother went?”

“Like I said, we weren’t close. Like, at all. Plus it’s been a few years since he left…”

Felix looks like they’re debating whether they should say. The audacity! “Garreg Mach University,” they finally reply. “My parents wanted me to go to Faerghus College like Glenn, but I was desperate to escape this dead-end suburbia. You’ll see when you get there… The world’s so much bigger outside of Fhirdiad.”

They look up to find Sylvain beaming. “Felix… Guess where I’m headed this fall?”

“Oh, goddess. Please don’t say Garreg-fucking-Mach.”

“Garreg-fucking-Mach!”

“So you’re telling me I have to put up with your shit for at least another three years?”

“I’m so ready, you don’t even know.” Sylvain is radiant. “So, uh, when’re you headed back then?”

Felix looks a little guilty for once. “Early tomorrow. I only came back to help with this stupid concert.”

“How early is early?” Sylvain cocks an eyebrow. “Grab a latte before you go, at least?”

Felix considers this briefly before answering, “No.”

“No?!”

“No means no.”

“Why not?”

Felix sighs, and their resignation gives Sylvain pause. Then, “I know it’s selfish, but I want the next time we meet to be in a place where… well, where I’ll be in a better place. Where you can see me for me.”

“But you’re already great the way you are now.” Sylvain squeezes their hand. _I mean it._

Flustered, they retort, “How did you get into GMU when you’re this stupid? You’ll change for the better too when you arrive. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.” And Sylvain’s content to let Felix have the final say.

Familiar voices approach. They both instantly withdraw their hands. Felix rises and heads for the exit, though this time they turn back to see if Sylvain follows. Of course he does. Of course he’ll stay by their side, as long they’ll allow him to. An awkward moment passes, then Felix lightly touches Sylvain’s hand again.

“See you in the fall, then. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Sylvain links his hands behind his head and smiles, a smile with neither pretense nor reservation. If Felix is the cold of ocean waves lapping at his ankles as he stands on a beach, Sylvain feels like the heat of the sun, shining upon and reflecting their ebullient waters. He feels he could run along those shores forever.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> check out @ochazake on twitter & instagram, thanks to @AceAroWeek on twitter for organizing, and find me at @deltacapricorn on twitter!
> 
> side note, was considering maybe a companion/sequel focused on felix & fire? not sure if folx would be interested in that. unless someone else wants to take that up ;3 in any case thanks again for reading \o/


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